Damage Done
by suz mc
Summary: Sam's drunken binge during "Playthings" didn't just lay him out. It stirred a lot of emotions and memories for both brothers, both past and present.
1. Chapter 1 Hotel Booze

**This was originally posted as five different stories but it just didn't make sense that way. So if you've read this before, you aren't caught in the "Mystery Spot." :-) After watching "Playthings", I was touched by Dean's emotions when poor, drunk Sam begged him to kill him if he went over to the darkside. It was the beginning of this dangerous road we see Sam and Dean traveling in Season 4. One thing led to another and Dean, Sam, and even John had something to say.

The title of the story, "Damage Done", refers to the way pain can wind through your life from one experience to another, from one miscommunication to another, and stay with you and change how we relate to each other. We can't undo what we say and what we do to those we love. Sometimes, we can't even clear up misunderstandings. Sam and Dean (and John) have to suffer with that truth.

Hope you enjoy!

Damage Done

Chapter 1 - Hotel Booze

By: Suz

Sam is drunk. Not just the stupid, laughin' college boy version of drunk he usually gets. Stone cold blind drunk. Jesus Christ. I left him alone for a couple of hours and in the time it took to watch a stiff get hauled down the stairs and talk to that tasty hotel MILF he sucked up all the booze in the room. Way to go, Sam. Working a fucking job and you have to go get wasted.

I guess it is my fault. Should have kept my big mouth shut about Dad's deathbed revelations. Sam does that to me, though. He keeps after me and after me. Relentless. This never-ending finger jamming into my chest. Talk. Talk. Talk. Until I'll say anything to shut him up. Then I've told him things and I'm pissed and he's usually not happy with what I've said. Damn it. Sam should definitely be a professional interrogator.

Not sure what I was thinking telling him that shit. What was Dad thinking telling it to me? I've never been sure how his screwed up mind worked. In the fucked up world of General John Winchester you aren't allowed to know the why, just shut up and do. Period. I'm still pissed. My bet is that Dad made a deal to save my life. I understand that. If it was my kid, I'd do the same. That part of him was my dad. But, if he knows he's about to leave me, us, permanently and he's spilling his guts about being proud of me, why did he whisper this particular sweet nothing in my ear and walk away. "You held this family together, son. You did that. I'm proud of you. By the way, if you can't save your brother from becoming an evil bastard, you'll have to kill him. Later."

That's truly messed up. Of course, I suppose I'm a special kind of bastard for passing it on to Sam. But, maybe he deserved to know so he could fight it, right? That's the story I'm going to stick with. How can you fight something if you don't know the facts? Never going to get the look on his face when he heard me say I might have to kill him out of my head. Let your brother tell you he might have to bust a cap in your head and see how you handle it. Let's just say, I shouldn't be shocked he tied one on tonight.

God, Sam was sloppy, emo drunk. At first, it was kind of funny. Telling me I'm bossy. No shit, Sherlock. What else is new? Then telling me I'm short. That was the clue. Either he had developed a sudden need to have his ass kicked or he was drunk. Sammy's usually a fun drunk. A singing, babbling, no fucking clue what he's saying drunk. Maybe now those days are gone. Someone tells you there may be some evil time bomb ticking in your brain, it's a buzz kill. He's carrying Mom and Jess's bodies on his back and it's getting too heavy. So he killed a few brain cells. I don't blame him. If I wasn't having to be the man in charge tonight, I'd sling back a few shots myself.

He did it again, though. Even drunk as shit he's one relentless boy. "Promise you'll do it," he said. Over and over while I'm trying to haul his lanky ass into bed and shut him up. He's begging me like he's going to freak out if I don't say yes. He's got this terrified look in his wobbly, drunk eyes like I've never seen. He's never hurt a thing in his life that didn't have it coming and even those, he struggled with. Sam's not mean, not vicious like I can be. He sees things different. All concerned with being fair and compassionate with every freaking thing we deal with. God, it makes me crazy sometimes because his over thinking may get his ass killed. The thought that he could become one of the monsters we hunt is more than he can take.

So my little brother asked me tonight if I would please kill him if it came to that. Not, bro, don't let me go home with butt ugly girls at closing time. Not, don't let me dress like a gay boy. Not, don't let me mix whiskey and beer. But, kill me. "Promise you'll kill me, Dean." He wouldn't shut up. I just wanted him to shut up before he fell apart and had to be embarrassed in the morning for acting like a girl. So I said I would. I lied like a dog and said I would. He passed out the minute I said it. What a relief.

I said I would but I'm a liar. Ask that trail of women who got to ride the Dean Winchester Party Train. I lie. So, I'm not going to sweat this one. No way I'm shooting Sammy. I don't care what he says or what Dad said. Sammy always asked why I followed Dad's orders like a freaking robot all these years. Well, congratulations, Sam, I see it your way now. My choice, my brother, and he's not dying by my hand or anyone else's.


	2. Chapter 2 Porcelain Alter

Damage Done

Chapter 2 - Porcelain Worship

By: Suz

Whether or not my brother will keep his promise to kill me may be moot at this point. My guts are about to slide out of my mouth and death generally follows pretty quickly after that happens. Worshiping at the Porcelain Alter is a religious experience I'd rather skip. It's four a.m. and I'm trying to puke quietly to avoid the new, fresh hell Dean's going to dump on me when he wakes up. At least he'll get some enjoyment out of it. Maybe that can make up for what I laid on him last night.

Thank God this toilet is cold. It's amazing where you'll put your face when the need arises.

To puke properly, you have to get your whole body into it and that's just too noisy at the moment. Lay around like I'm doing now, and it'll take forever. My brother taught me that pearl of wisdom. "Get your back into it, Lil Brother!" he said, shoving my head out the car window. "Maybe if you'd practice, you could hold your liquor, Princess." Blew down the street like a freaking fire extinguisher. That was the night of my high school graduation. Never forget it. Well, I'll never forget some of it.

Dad didn't make it but Dean was there, as usual, making excuses and doing anything to distract me from being pissed off. Really dorked it out for me. Camera. Clapping like he was one of the parents. "All right, Sammy!" Held up this Bic lighter like he was at a Metallic concert. Normally, I would have been embarrassed and pretended I didn't know him at all, but not that day. I had someone put me first over a hunt and it felt good. Sounds petty and childish now, after everything that's happened, but back then it was how I felt. The second I flipped the tassel, the party started.

This room is killing me. It's creepy enough without the tile spinning around. Been a while since I've done this. Jess and I weren't big on binge drinking in college. With work and keeping up a GPA for scholarship money, we were too busy to party often. My graduation party with Dean was one for the books, though. I think I was drunk for three days afterward. Generally, I held Dean back when he wanted to drag me on one of his famous "party and panties" hunts. Not that night. We hit this wild college bar in town and went straight to work. Suppose I'd decided that event was to be my official emancipation from John Winchester. I'd already made up my mind to leave in the fall, just couldn't tell Dean yet. It was going to hurt him, badly. Every shot I lifted was prefaced with, "To Dad, screw you!" Dean sucked up most of his shots off some girl's belly. I got laid but it's a bit fuzzy. My brother likes to mention "the twins" when that night comes up but I think I'd rather not have the details.

I didn't think it was possible to throw up this much. I'm never drinking again. I swear to God. Think I said that after the Winchester Brothers Graduation Celebration, too. Even as sick as I was later, it's one of my best memories with my brother. Dean and I had an ass-kicking, hilariously fun night. It came to an abrupt halt when we fell in the door at four a.m. and Dad had made it home.

When I say we "fell in the door," I mean it literally. Dean jammed his key in the lock and we both landed in a giggling, drunken pile right at the feet of a pissed off John Winchester. Not a safe place to be. His boots were covered in mud and right at our heads but we didn't have sense enough to stop laughing. Dad was ten feet tall, towering over us looking like something that needed a salt round between the eyes. His bellowing came out in a foaming stream of fury. Didn't make much sense to our blitzed brain cells but I could make out things like "brainless drunken idiots" and "shit for brains" and "sitting ducks." He was right about the drunken idiots parts.

Dean couldn't get up either, so he made an attempt at slurred small talk while he tried to pull some girl's panties from around his neck.

"Dad? Find that suc-suc-succubus you were huntin'? Sammy and I were just—" and before he could finish, I clearly remember saying, "Why don't you suck this, Johnny Boy!" Then, I threw up on those dirty boots. It was the beginning of a very long, uncomfortable summer that ended in the mother of all screaming matches and me leaving for a new life, a life I thought I wanted and could have. But here I am, puking my insides out in a haunted motel. Talk about full circle.

Things fell apart last night in my head. It was so quiet. I tried to focus on the computer screen, on the research, but my head wouldn't stop screaming. I turned up the IPod and all it did was make my brain louder. "Dad said I might have to kill you, Sammy." Why the hell couldn't he tell Dean, "Tell Sammy demons lie. He's okay," instead of confirming that I've got some apocalyptic time bomb in my head? When Yellow Eyes taunted me with that tasty piece of intel, I wanted to believe he was lying. He's a freaking demon. But, I have to acknowledge the truth. I've always known there was something off. Dad knew it, too. That's why there was a wall between us. He felt this thing inside me and it's that thing that caused Mom and Jess to die. It's focused around me and he knew it. He had to warn Dean to protect him and at least I'm glad for that.

To shut up the sound, I crawled down into a bottle. A couple of bottles, actually. Think I might have puked one up a minute ago. Dean was kind of shocked when he realized I'd sucked up all the booze in the room, including the flask in his jacket pocket. "What were you thinking, Sammy? We're working a case." I feel bad about leaving him with no backup.

But I feel really, really good about how cold this toilet bowl feels against my face. It's the only thing standing between me and a reaper. Dean was starting to get pissed last night when I kept asking and asking him to kill me if I turned. "Don't you ask me to do that," he said. Called Dad an ass and said, "Nobody's dying." I can't bear the thought that I might hurt my brother. He's all I have.

Things are fuzzy after that but I remember when he broke. Dean doesn't break often. He's a my-way-or-the-highway guy, unless he was around Dad, then Dad made the rules. He was trying to get me to go to sleep and shut up and I was begging him. The feeling of begging sticks in your chest. It's almost like you'd crawl out of your skin for some relief when you get to that point. He looked at me with that same look he used when we were kids and I was about to freak out over something. This really sad look that said he didn't know what to do but was going to fake it so calm down.

"I promise."

It cost him to say that, even if he lied. The minute he said it, I could tell it went through his head what it would be like to kill me. Thanks to me, now he's got another brick on his back to add to all those Dad loaded onto it. This thing inside me is already starting to pound away on us both, even though it's not out yet.

Damn it. Dean's up. Why does he have to get up so freaking early? He's heard me puking in here and he's laughing. My brother has no compassion for a hangover because he could drink all the tequila in TJ and be early to rise the next day. His guts are cast iron just like his will. He's going to pretend we didn't say what we did last night. Dean lied like when he's promising to call some bar pickup the day after. Later, he's going to have to face it. He's the only one who can do it. If I turn, he'll be the nearest target and living with his blood on my hands isn't something I can do.

If he talks about food, I may puke again.

Too late.


	3. Chapter 3 Winchester Bros

Damage Done

Chapter 3 - Winchester Brothers Graduation Celebration

By: Suz

Sam's going to die. It's a sure thing. Not sure why I'm laughing my ass off about it but so is he so why not? If I can get Jenny's or Penny's or whatever her freaking name is panties off my neck maybe I can stop Dad before he gets his hands around Sammy's neck.

God this is so freaking funny I can't breathe. "Suck it!" That's what Sam just yelled at Dad before he barfed on Dad's boots. Damn, he loves those boots. I love those boots. Steel-toed ass-kickers those boots. Women love shit like that. Wonder why Dad never gets any? Maybe we should take him with us next time. If I can get Sam some bootie, should have no trouble getting John Winchester of the badass boots laid. Might improve his freaking mood.

"Get on your feet and go clean up, you little shit!" Dad's got Sam by his great big head and Sam's still laughing. I gotta get off this floor, but the floor feels so good right now.

"Sammy!? You still sick?!" I yell across the room. It's hard to see but Dad's dragging Sam across the room and he's ripping him a new one. I think those are some Vietnamese curse words because I don't understand what he's saying. Maybe it's a damn exorcism. I dunno.

"Bluuuuhhhh."

Water is running over to the left and I can hear Sammy blubbering. And, yes, it's still funny. Dad's got Sam's face in the sink cleaning him up. Good. Sam stinks like puke and bourbon. Not me, I smell like girl. That girl smelled so great. I love the way they smell and taste and walk and when they rub all over you that smell just stays and stays. Best smelling thing ever. Holy water should smell just like girl. But it doesn't. Just smells like water.

Whoa. I'm trying to get up on my knees but I think that girl has made me weak. Or maybe it was just the booze in her belly button that did it. I dunno.

"Sammy! Shoulda listened to me!" Sam's got his face down in the toilet now. What a girl. Except he doesn't smell like one. "Beer on whiskey, always riiiiiiisky!"

"If you have half a brain, mister, you'll crawl your ass into that bed and shut up." Dad's pissed.

Sam's puking and laughing again. How's he doing that? "Whiskey on beer will make you queer!"

"You should know, queer bait!"

"Jerk!"

"Bitch!"

There's not enough air in here for me to laugh and breathe at the same time. How did I get back on the floor again?

"Hey! Something's got me, Dad!" I'm screaming, hoping he'll hear me. "Where's my fucking gun?!"

These big hands are jerking me off the floor. "It's me, you idiot!" Dad threw me on the bed and thumped me hard on the head. "You're going to wish something had dragged your sorry ass off into the night when I get through with both of you tomorrow."

Dad's yanking off my boots. My non-steel-toed boots. "That tickles!"

"Shut up, Dean."

"Why don't YOU shut up, Mister John Freakin' Winchester Sir?!"

That was Sammy's voice. Oh, shit. First it was "Suck it" and now this. "Sammy, you gonna diiiiiie!" Sammy loves my Guns and Roses voice. "Welcome to the jungle, Sammy!" Sammy's crawled up on the bed beside me. God, he smells bad. Not at all like girl even though he acts like one sometimes.

"Sam." Dad's voice just got dangerous. He switches from cursing and screaming to one syllable it's death time. "Close your mouth before I close it for you."

"Nobody tells my bro to shut up, dude!" Sammy's got his arm wrapped around my neck.

"Can't breathe. Gonna puke."

"Sorry," Sam says, while he's moving his arm. What was that crash? Lamp. Oh. "We just did major celebrating with girls and drinks for my grad…u…ation. And this is my brother and where the fuck were you, Big John?"

Sam's foot just hit the floor and he's laughing again and talking to me like Dad can't hear him. "Bet I know, Dean. He had places ta go and things ta kill, right? But not us," Sam's hugging me again. "You are the BEST, Dean. Got me laid and by hot girls, too. Not hookers, either, cuz we don't pay, right Dean?!"

"Hell no, Sammo! Only looooosers have to pay!"

"Dean got me shots and babes! I swear, man. I love you, man. I do."

"Homo." Sam's so freaking funny when he's drunk. And fun. He's not all serious werious. That's funny. Did I say that out loud? Girls like Sam. He was great for getting me chicks when he was little. They'd see me all sensitive taking care of my little wussy baby brother and BAM, instant tongue.

Where'd Dad go? My ears aren't bleeding anymore from his screaming. Oh, there he is, over in the corner. He's just staring at us. Not in that raw meat way like he's gonna salt and burn us like before. It's that sad moody way like when he's thinking about mom.

Stop it.

"Dad, you're a buzz kill." Who said that? Oh, I did. Shit. He's not going to like that. "You're not gonna kill Sam, are you? He tells me to suck it all the time and I don't kill him." I've gotta reach up and grab Sammy's big ole head. "I'm not gonna let him kill ya, Sambone. Sam? Sam?"

Damn. He's passed out in my bed. Okay, Sammy. I'm just gonna let him stay because the room is spinning. If he pukes in my bed he's a dead.

The covers just pulled up. I hope Dad doesn't kill us in the morning. That would suck. Who's that rubbing my freakin' head?

"Night boys. Sorry."


	4. Chapter 4 The Morning After

Damage Done

Chapter 4 - The Morning After

By: Suz

Every time he moved, the sound was painful. Red naugahide diner seats were too noisy for this particular morning. Sam was slumped down in the booth, trying to rest his head and keep his ears from exploding.

This was an official hangover. It wasn't like he hadn't had a buzz before now but last night was a first. Head injury memory loss was nothing compared to this. Everything was popping through his brain like a chopped up video track. Shot glasses. Dean drinking off a girl's belly. Laughing, lots of laughing – which made him giggle now even though he thought he was going to die. Being naked in Dean's backseat with some girl – Penny or Jenny or something – who smelled really, really good.

"Dude!" Dean elbowed him back into consciousness. "Get up. He's coming."

He. That must mean Dad. Oh shit.

Sam dragged himself upright and opened his eyes. The white-hot sunrise stabbed him in the face and he had to cover his eyes with his hands. "Dean, tell me again why we had to sit here by the window."

"Because this is where Dad said to sit and he's pissed," Dean said, pulling his sunglasses out and handing them to his brother. "Put these on."

Sliding the dark black shades onto his face provided a bit of relief, but not much. His head felt like it weighed two tons and he could still taste booze mixed in with his toothpaste. Dean was right. Dad was pissed. Seven layers of hell pissed. He'd ripped the covers off them, flipped on every light in the room and dared them to complain. He'd barked a few words at Dean then left, slamming the door behind him. Sam's favorite shirt was in a wad on the floor where Dad had used it to clean his boots. John Winchester was in full marine mode this morning and if you didn't want your head removed with piano wire, it was best not to buck him when he was like that.

"Dean, can you tell me something?"

"What?"

"Just why is he jacked up to this level? Is it because we got drunk?" Sam watched his father crossing the parking lot, staring a burning hole through the diner window.

Dean broke into a wide grin, shaking his head. "Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. Drunk is just one item on the list."

"Did we do something else?"

That question brought out full-blown laughter. Dad was stalking toward the diner like a lion ready to feed. "Dean? What?"

Before Dean could catch his breath and speak, a few more flashes lit up Sam's brain. "Oh shit."

"Remember now, Suck It Boy?"

"Did I really tell him to 'suck it', Dean? Christ! I'm dead!" He was sitting up straight now, shoving Dean over so he could get the hell out, but Dean wasn't moving.

"Oh, wait, it gets better, dude," Dean said, pushing Sam back onto his side of the bench. "You called him Johnny Boy, Mister John Freakin Winchester Sir, Big John, AND told him to shut up." Then, he leaned over into Sam's ear and added, "Oh, and you puked on his boots."

"Oh shit." Sam buried his throbbing head in his hands. It was all back now, replaying in blurred drunk vision. Throwing up on Dad's boots was the least of it. He'd argued with his father before but never, ever had he told him to 'suck it' and he'd never mocked him because he didn't have any desire to end up on a funeral pier. Good thing he'd had great sex and a great party because it was going to be his lovely parting gift from the world.

Dean slapped Sam on the back, nearly toppling him onto the table. "Don't worry, Sammy. I told him he was a buzz kill and I'm the one who got you drunk so I'm in the body bag with you, Bro." Dean caught his Dad's murderous look as he passed by the window. "Look, just don't talk much when he gets here. I'll figure out some way to ease it up. It'll be okay."

"Why don't you feel like crap? You drank as much as I did?" Sam tried to swallow and balance his huge head on his shoulders. Dad was coming and he had to get it together.

"Oh, Little Brother," Dean said, resting his elbow on the table. "Real men can hold their liquor."

"In other words, you feel like shit, too."

"Totally."

The cowbell attached to the diner's front door clattered, announcing John Winchester's entrance. Dean jerked himself erect in his seat. "Before he gets here, before we die, tell me something, Sam." Dean straightened his face to avoid any trace of smartass.

"What?"

"Was it worth it? The ass kicking we're about to get?"

Sam laughed the crazy laughter of someone about to be fried in the electric chair. "Totally worth it."

"Dude. You da' man."

"That's what she said."

"You make me so proud, boy. I may cry." Dean felt a grip that was much too firm on his shoulder. Death had arrived.

"Nice to see you boys enjoying yourselves this fine day." John slid into the opposite side of the booth, knocking both boys' feet sideways with his boots. Signaling the waitress with one hand, he reached the other across the table, yanking Dean's sunglasses from Sam's face, clattering them to the table.

Lowering his voice to a growl, John leaned over and said, "I need your full attention. Don't want you to miss a thing, boy."

Boy. Dad had a thousand uses for that word, all delineated by his tone. It could mean "my son" or "oh boy" or "come here, Sam." This usage meant "you're ass is mine." Sam was sweating and his mouth was bone dry. Trying to stay still, as if it would make him invisible, he didn't dare touch the water as a waitress with enormous hair arrived to take their order.

"Good morning, boys," she said, happily, pulling a pencil from behind her ear. "What'll it be?"

"Good morning, sweetheart," John said, smiling as if charming this waitress was the only thing on his mind. "I'll have the special, black coffee," he said.

"Nothing for me," Sam and Dean spoke in unison.

"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, boys," he said, winking at the waitress. "Gets your metabolism going for whatever back-breaking labor may come your way." Scanning the menu, he thumped it with his index finger. "Here we go. Bring them the Big Man's Breakfast, extra eggs, sunny side up, and extra sausage, too. Gotta keep these hungry boys full. Oh, and how about chocolate milk? A great big glass." He leaned over the table, grinning. "You boys loved that when you were little. Right?"

"That is so cute," gushed the waitress, jotting the order on her pad. "Be right back."

"Dad," Sam said, cautiously. "I don't think I can eat all that."

John leaned back in his seat, folding his arms in front of him. He was still smiling like he had at the big-haired waitress but his tone was pure venom. "You'll eat it, every bite, or I'll cram it down your throat myself. And if you puke it up, just means you'll get to enjoy it twice. Double my money's worth." Switching his gaze to Dean, he asked, "You, too."

"No problem, sir." Dean answered, nervously unfolding his napkin.

They sat in silence for what seemed like ten years. Not once did John take his eyes off of his sons. Sam felt like he was swimming in sweat as the sun beat down through the window into his face. The smell of bourbon seemed to ooze out through his pores, waving around like a red flag that would piss off his father even more.

Dean cleared his throat, and shifted uncomfortably in the seat beside him, making him jump. Dean was about to start talking. Sam poked him in the side, praying he'd just keep his mouth shut.

"Look, Dad," Dean started off, looking at his father, then away. "I'm not sure what happened last night but those girls we met, I mean, I think they drugged Sam. Roophie or something." Patting Sam on the shoulder, he kept rolling. "I tried to help him but they must have drugged me, too. Over powered me, Dad. Then they did God knows what to us. I think Sam's traumatized. Right, Sam? You need a hug, dude?"

Sam wasn't sure if Dean's web of crap was meant to explain things or be comic relief. From the look on Dad's face, it was failing on both counts.

In the space of a breath, John's arm shot across the table. His hand gripped Dean's neck and jerked him forward. "Listen, smartass, I'd worry more about covering your own ass, than his. Got me?"

"Yes, sir." He said it quickly and with the submission that might save his life as it hung in the balance.

Feeling the waitress approaching, John returned a friendly grin to his face and quickly loosened his vice grip on Dean's neck to an affectionate slap to his cheek. "Good boy!"

Sam tried to gulp down his disgust as three plates of greasy diner breakfast slid across the table. His father clapped his hands together enthusiastically, making him jump and his head began to pound more loudly.

"Eat up boys," John said, filling his fork. "You've got twenty minutes before the real fun begins." He ate with a great deal of gusto, temporarily taking his focus off of the boys.

Dean was handling the food much better than Sam. He'd always seemed to handle indulgences more easily. Food. Liquor. Sex. Fights. He took pleasure in all the senses. The only tell Sam could read was a steady stream of sweat running down Dean's neck. His head would have to explode before he'd show any weakness to their father.

Cutting his food into tiny bites seemed to help ease it down his throat but it was taking him forever. Repeated swallowing kept the food in his stomach. If he threw up now, Sam was convinced his father would shovel it back into his face. Breathe. Bite. Swallow. Concentrating on that rhythm helped.

John asked for a refill on his coffee and Sam thanked God silently that he didn't try to force more food on them. Drawing in a long sip from his cup, John sat it back on the table and turned his raging glare back toward his sons. "Since the two of you had a great deal to say last night when you were wasted, I'm going to talk and you're going to listen."

He paused but it was clear he wasn't interested in a response. "You want to go out whoring and drinking, you'd better make sure you're men enough to keep your asses out of trouble." Pointing a long finger at Dean he said, "You make sure one of you idiots is sober enough to drive without killing yourselves or someone else, genius."

"Nothing hap—" Dean closed his teeth quickly as his father's hand smacked him on the side of his head.

"Don't test me, boy." He drew in a long, cleansing breath and continued. "I'm also guessing when you were entertaining in the backseat neither one of you had enough blood diverted from your zipper to your brain to use protection. Am I right?" When he received no response, he said, "I'll take that to mean no you didn't or you don't remember." He took another drink from his cup. "If you can't reach your fucking wallet and suit up, keep your dick in your pants, got me?"

The sounds of his tirade were pounding against Sam's head worse than any beating. A beating would be preferable to this endless brain-slap. In an attempt to appear contrite, Sam answered, "Yes, sir."

"And you, smart boy," John said, switching his attentions to Sam. "You realize what's out there waiting to catch you or your brother in a vulnerable position? You claim to not be a child anymore but you and your brother go out and get shitfaced and any one of a thousand things that would like you dead could have plucked you out of this world."

He'd delivered the speech through such a tightened jaw Sam thought his dad's face would crack. His voice barely rose above a growl but it delivered a punch.

After a few deep breaths, John reached behind him to grab his wallet and fish a few bills out of it. "First, the two of you are going to detail MY car inside and out."

"Don't you mean, my car?" Dean had come to life when risk of losing his baby appeared. "And he didn't puke in it. I held his head out the window."

"It's mine until you prove you aren't a drunken fool and you didn't have his head out as far as you think." He laid the money on the table. "It's about ninety-five degrees out there. Should sweat some of the booze out of you. Then, you're cleaning every weapon and sharpening every blade then a five mile run." Pointing toward the empty plates, he added, "Eating like that and sucking up booze, you need to work it off."

He made his way out of the booth, and then leaned over to whisper into the boys' faces. Focusing on Sam first, he said, "I'm giving you a pass because you were stupid drunk last night but you ever talk to me like that again, I'll break you into so many pieces it'll take a road map to put you back together." Turning to Dean, he added, "Just to clarify, I don't have to impress sloppy drunk bar sluts with my boots to get laid, son. I do fine. Most women want men, not liquored up little boys."

He stormed his way out of the diner and Sam felt the air returning. Both boys visibly slumped down in their sets.

"Could have been worse. Much worse. We're not dead. That's good. Just do what he wants and he'll cool off." Dean shoved the empty plate to the other side of the table. "Damn it. I must have said that stuff about getting him laid out loud. Shit."

"What?" Sam said, shoving his plate away, also.

"Never mind." Dean eased out of his seat and waiting for Sam to do the same.

What had been fear and humility began to give way to anger. Sam's stomach twisted more with emotion than nausea. He'd gotten sidetracked from the reason he'd been so willing to act out in the first place by the liquor and the sex.

"Sam, get moving." Dean rapped his knuckles on the table.

"He never apologized."

"What the fuck?!" Dean dropped down in the seat again. "Look, you must have a serious death wish. You're lucky to be breathing and you're gonna poke THAT bear again because he missed your little thing?"

His face was starting to heat up again thinking about it. Sam turned to Dean and said, "So he's allowed to be pissed because you and I don't live up to his ideal of the perfect monster fighting war machines but I don't get anything from him?"

"Don't you do this. Not today." Dean was up in his face. "I shouldn't have taken you out and let you get out of control."

"Like you WERE in control."

"Whatever. Stop expecting shit to be the way you want and you'll stop being all girlie depressed when he doesn't deliver." He'd raised his voice too high and the waitress looked over at them. Dean turned his body around more toward Sam to mask their conversation.

"I'm not asking for him to be freakin' Mike Brady, Dean! I just thought he'd show up for my graduation. You were there."

"Get over it."

"Get over it? That's all you've got? Get over it?" Sam shoved him toward the edge of the booth and Dean willingly got out to get away from him. "Why don't you suck on that, Dean."

"That phrase almost got your ass kicked last night. Get some new material." Dean stood still as Sam unfolded from the booth. "Look, I know you're pissed and your little pansy feelings are hurt. I'm sorry about that."

Sam started toward the door, Dean trailing him. "I'm not going to have to get over it much longer."

"What?"

"Nothing," Sam answered, shoving the door open and nearly smacking himself in the head with the cowbell. "Let's go clean the damn car and every other damn thing we own."

The bright sunlight made them both squint their eyes shut. Dean poked his brother in the arm and quirked a dirty grin at him. "Maybe we can run our five miles past the bar and that girl who took your cherry will be there?"

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

The end


	5. Chapter 5 A Good Father

Damage Done

Chapter 5 - A Good Father

By: Suz

No one has ever accused me of being a good father, at least, not in recent history. In my long list of failures, it's probably up at the top, right beside letting my wife burn to death. Nobody knows that more than me. Bobby's accused me of being a selfish bastard. Ellen Harville accused me of being an obsessed killer who let her husband be slaughtered. Never, a good father. Maybe there was a time, before demons and fire and blood ran through my life, that I could have been a decent father. Hard to remember back that far. I had a little over four years of being a real father before it all went south. Sometimes I want to ask Dean if he remembers the times when he followed me around at the garage and rode around on my shoulders, a time when we were normal, oblivious civilians. I don't ask because if he didn't, it would hurt me, and if he did, it would hurt him. What I've become now is some weird combination of crazed drill sergeant, warden, and parent. I won't flatter myself to call it "father" today, just parent.

The boys are still detailing the car and sweating off their party. Couldn't resist parking it right out in the sun to make it doubly miserable. I, on the other hand, have elected to sit here inside with the a/c blasting while I wait. Sam just glanced over and I raised my beer at him. He wants to give me the finger so badly his hands are twitching. Dean is avoiding looking over this way because he wants me to see how hard he's working. I need to keep my eyes on them. Last night, when I couldn't find them, it was hell. I'm keeping my eyes on them until this business is finished.

I stopped being truly pissed off when I left the diner. Dean spouting off about getting me laid was funny as hell. From the look on his face, I gather he didn't remember saying it. Probably doesn't remember much. I think Sam remembers what he said. Wish I didn't.

Back in country, when I was their age, we'd get so shitfaced we were smoking everything but our boots. If they would have gotten us high, we would have lit those up, too. That's what being eighteen and in war will do to you. We had the great luck to get in on the tail end of hell, when the whole world was losing its mind. Booze, grass, and ass were the only things that kept us sane. Saigon fell and we got on our knees happy to come home with a few scars to impress the girls and our asses still among the living. Thought I would get married and forget war; finish my enlistment on a cushy base coming home to my pretty wife every night. After that, I'd go out into the world and tell war stories for the next fifty years.

Never thought a new war would be the rest of my life. War is what I've given to my sons. I could have done what Mary's brother asked and signed them over to him and his wife to raise. The father in me couldn't bear to let them go. They were just two little boys without their mother, clinging to me like any second I could turn into smoke and be gone, too. They were Mary. They were all I had. I did it for me, and I'll own that one. People kept spouting this bullshit about me loving them enough to let them go. Right, I should love them enough to leave them with fools who don't know the monster under the bed is real? No way I'd do that. They didn't have a clue how much I loved those boys and still don't. Screw them.

Sam's on the other side of the car with the hose running over his head to disguise the fact that he's, once again, puking his guts out. Damn, I've never seen a kid puke that much. He's lucky I got the smell of vomit out of my boots or he'd be running ten miles. Seems he got hold of some vintage Balls in a Bottle last night. Found his mouth, that's for sure. Telling me to "suck it." That was funny later, after I wasn't walking around in puke anymore. Would have served Dean right if Sammy had puked in his bed. Watching him jump to Dean's defense made me proud. One day, it's just going to be the two of them, back to back. Dean is worrying about getting me laid and Sam's telling me to back off. Why can't they be quiet drunks? That's the trouble with kids. You can't wait for them to talk, and then they do.

Sam doesn't remember me as the dad who came home at night with a Milky Way stashed in my pocket for him. He doesn't remember Thanksgiving turkey and Santa Clause and cursing through building a swing set. He remembers my back heading out the door. I made Dean his father so I could kill things. "Places to go and things to kill." That's what he thought I was doing yesterday, and he was right.

The boys just walked through the door and I have to smile at them in their pain. Hell, that's what a father does, right? Kicks your ass when you screw up? They don't even have a clue how close they came to, as Dean says, gettin' ganked last night. Sam's look could peel the skin off my face, so Dean shoved him passed me as quick as he coul. He's always trying to protect him from me. My eldest thinks his brother needs protection from his own father, which is what I get for telling him to "watch out for your brother" four million times. I got what I asked for. I wanted Dean to do the grunt work so I could get revenge and he did it. Now, he's the father, not me. Makes me jealous sometimes. Like I want to kick his ass for taking the place I forced him into. How sick is that?

All of the weapons are spread across the room now while the boys start to work. It's an impressive arsenal, if I do say so myself. "Shot guns first," I tell Dean. Want to make sure those aren't out of commission long.

"Yes, sir," then he's back to work. I wonder what Dean would have been if I hadn't fashioned him into a killing machine? He's never killed anything human, I know that, but it's part of his nature now. Killing. I worry that his limits will change. Mine certainly changed. I went into my first war a cherry and left behind a body count even I don't want to think about and I was a teenager. Dean's first kill came when he was ten. The last thing to escape him was a Shtriga. Nothing since.

My eldest knows that life is temporary. You're supposed to be immortal at twenty-two. Dean indulges in life because he thinks it could be gone. Drinking, sex, loud music, food. He fights hard and lives hard. Live today because tomorrow you could be dead. That explains his behavior last night. Sammy did it for different reasons. Sammy's trying to declare his independence. Keeping this a dictatorship is the only way I can keep him safe.

By the time I got to the ceremony, after my screwed up attempt to find the succubus -- or succubi since there turned out to be two of those bitches -- I was too late. Dean had his arm wrapped around Sammy and someone was holding his camera to take a picture. There was a big smile on Sam's face so I'm guessing Dean had really laid it on thick to distract him from being pissed off at me. I know he was pissed because he's pissed every time I don't play along with his attempts to be like everybody else. When he was little, he'd be sad and pitiful about it. Now, as the years have gone by, his sadness has switched to anger. Dean worships me and fears me. Sam hates me and fears me. That makes Sam harder to control and scares the crap out of me. His bitterness is building every single day and the more I try to squash it, the bigger it gets. He refuses to see that we can't live like people who don't know the truth. We know. It's a target painted on our backs that will never go away. Dressing up like a clueless suburban family, going to school, playing soccer and getting diplomas won't change that. If Sammy doesn't get that through his head and accept it, he's not going to survive. His survival is what I have to be responsible for as his father. If he hates me, so be it.

The boys were already walking away when I made it through the crowd. What was I supposed to say? This was important to Sam. He's got a freaking 4.0, though he has no clue I know. He's damn smart, that boy. Hopefully, he's going to use those smarts to keep his ass alive and save some more people in the bargain. I stopped myself before tapping them on the shoulder and just let them walk away. Making a scene would have made it worse. Guess I shouldn't have assumed they would come straight back to the apartment. I drove around this town for hours looking before I went home. Didn't put me in a good mood for their return, that's for sure.

Damn it. I thought I'd have more time before they showed up but there they are, draped across the Impala waiting for me. The boys are still busy with their work. Dean got brave enough to turn on the radio a few minutes ago and he's mouthing the words to "Enter Sandman." Sam's never been much of a Metallica fan but he seems to be feeling good enough to nod his head in time with the music. They're so busy they don't notice me close the blinds.

"I'm going out. Don't you move until I come back." I said it in the roughest voice I could must.

"Yes, sir!"

Sam popped off again. Yeah, it was the correct response but he threw me a salute to top it off. Dean just elbowed him in the guts. I hope he doesn't puke again – or maybe I do. It would keep them both occupied and away from this window.

My gun's handy but that's all I've got at the moment. There are too many people around in the parking lot for full battle. Fire is the only weapon that works. I know it and they know it, too. As I walk toward them, I'm getting ready for the pissing contest we're about to have.

"Jenny and Penny, I presume?" They both slide down from the hood looking like teenaged cats in heat. "Sorry but I worked out my twins fetish years ago."

"Pity your boys just got around to it last night," says the first one. She's got long blonde hair and huge tits. Bet Dean went after that one. "By the way, I'm Jenny, Mr. John Winchester." Leaning back against the car with her hands in the pockets of her jeans, she doesn't look like a vicious monster, but in my experience, looks are the most dangerous weapon of all.

"Don't look all pissy, John." The other one is circling around behind the car. I've got to be careful not to get too close. "We just played with them a little. No biggie."

"Like you played with those six poor bastards last month?"

Penny is smaller, with these wide, wet eyes. Sam went for that one. I'm positive. "Look, they were old guys and couldn't take the drain. We don't like to kill people, just happens sometimes, Daddy."

She took a step toward me so I've pulled my gun from my back, holding it down by my side. She gets the idea and backs up.

"You two looked different when I trailed you yesterday. Quite a facelift."

"Oh, yeah, about that," Jenny says, flipping her hair in the breeze. "You were such a pain in the ass looking for us, we decided to change our form to teen bitch. Opens up a whole new market."

"Neat trick."

"Our Dad taught us." Penny's leaning over on her sister now, licking her lips at me. "You like? Your boys sure did!"

I hate a succubus just like I hate the rest of Hell's lineup but these bitches are at the top of my list. They've killed six men in six weeks but they just made it personal. They made the rounds of the yacht and country club scene, seducing lonely jerks, fucking their brains out, then literally sucking the life out of them. What a way to go, right? Leaving the boys out of this hunt was the smart thing to do. They aren't equipped to deal with these things. Last night confirmed it.

"From middle aged slut to young fresh slut. You're dad must be proud."

Jenny just shook off her sister and took on a more serious tone. "Look, Badass. We don't want any trouble. We're not wrapped up in the 'us against you thing' you have going with the rest of our people. We just want to have a little fun. Live and let live, okay?"

"Should have thought about that before you put your hands on my boys. I take that personally, bitch."

Penny is circling me now and I don't have a choice but to aim my nine at her. "Here's the deal, John. We can't kill you here and you know it. You can bust one of those pathetic salt rounds into me. It'll sting but it won't kill me and I don't see you setting two hot girls on fire in public. Attracts too much attention, right?"

"Who says I'm afraid of a little attention?" Covering both of them is getting to be a problem. "Might be worth it to light you both up and be done with it."

"As if!" Jenny just waved the other one off. "Let's cut to it. You and you're man-whore boys pack up and leave by midnight or we'll change form and wait for a chance to suck their lives out through their dicks, 'kay? Plain enough for you?"

"Listen, we don't want to hurt them," Penny says, holding up her hands in mock surrender. "I like that younger one and didn't take but just a taste out of him. It was a warning, Papa. But you know what we can do and they'd make it easy. We've got friends close by who would love to know the Winchesters are here but we're holding onto that intel. Take the deal, we'll keep quiet."

'I will never surrender of my own free will.' That's Article II of the Code of Conduct. Loved to spit that out when I was in uniform. Went along great with my other favorite Marine saying -- When in doubt, empty the magazine. Surrender is what you do when you've screwed up and backed yourself into a corner. It's weak. Makes me sick. Those two bitches are gloating and using my boys against me. It makes me want to tear their blonde heads off their necks. That "live to fight another day" bullshit makes me sick, too. I hate it. I want to fight this day, but I can't. I'm out numbered and those boys behind me think too much with their lower brain to deal with these monsters. I should have sent the boys to Bobby last month like I wanted but I didn't want to screw up Sam's last weeks in school. He's got to get this out of his system and be done with it. I relented and I screwed up.

They have me and I hate being had, damn it.

"Why should I believe you?" They've stopped circling me now. Penny's stroking the car like a boyfriend. That would truly piss Dean off – or get him off, who knows.

"Trailing hunters is very boring, Daddy," Jenny answers, rolling her eyes at me. "Rather spend my energy in horizontal pursuits."

"What makes you think I won't come back and fry your asses?"

"Promises, promises." Penny is licking her lips at me again. She yanks a pair of sunglasses from her pocket and pops them onto her nose. "Or, maybe you'd like a little taste yourself. We promise to be gentle. Best you've ever had."

"I doubt it."

"Take the deal, John."

"Don't tell me what to do, bitch."

"Ug! I'm getting so totally sick of that word!" Both of them took a step forward, so I've got to back up to keep a safe distance. A succubus can completely fuck up your thought processes.

"So, are you going or what?" Jenny's getting impatient. Must be close to happy hour.

"Get the hell out of my face and we'll go. I won't come back."

They high five each other and, witnesses or not, I'd give anything to have a torch at this second. I'm making sure the get in their car and drive away before I go inside. I don't have much faith in their word. Spawn of demons lie.

When I open the door, both boys are where I left them. Most of the guns are lined neatly against the wall like a battalion that could fight all on its own. Dean is sliding a blade across his whetstone. Sammy's creating holy water, mumbling over two gallon jugs and dipping in a rosary. I didn't even order him to do that, just decided on his own. Sammy loves holy water. When he was twelve, he had the bright idea to load a super soaker water gun with the stuff. Called it his "long distance demon detector." Dean told him it was gay and he'd better not let that toy anywhere near his Glock. Not the manliest weapon, but it did come in handy once before Dean tossed it out the window.

"Pack it up. We're leaving in an hour." I don't give them a chance to start questioning me. It'll take me fifteen to load my duffle bag and be ready to move. Loading the weapons will take longer.

"Where are we going?" Dean is looking up from his knife blade but not moving.

"Somewhere south." If I can get them moving, maybe we could be on the road in thirty minutes.

"On a hunt or moving?" Dean's voice is a little sharper.

"Moving out. We need a change."

I can feel the temperature change behind me.

"Why are we leaving?!" Sam's on his feet. Shit, couldn't he stay intimidated for the whole afternoon? "This is crap!"

"Sammy!" Dean's on his feet, too, grabbing his brother's arm and trying to drag him back as Sam tries to get to me. There was a time when Dean's grasp would immediately yank his little brother back three feet. Not anymore. Sam keeps coming, dragging Dean behind him till he's right at my back.

"Look, you made your point in the diner, Dad!" Sam's right at my neck and his tone is prickling my nerves. "We're idiots! You're the boss! Why do we have to pick up and leave?"

"Because I said so, boy." I don't dare turn around because if I do I'm not sure if I can take that boy in my face right now.

"That's bullshit! I'm not going!" Sam is planted at my back, in my way.

No choice now. I turn around so fast it startles both boys and they take a step back. My hands are on his shirt and damn it, we're eye to eye. It's hard to pull back when I want to shake him so badly. "I don't have to answer to you, Sam. Pack your shit."

He's unrelenting. "Why?"

I want to tell him it's because they were two sex-crazed idiots who might get fucked to death by succubus twins. I want to say I need to save your lives because these bitches can change form and leach the life out of you before I figure out who they are again. If I do, they will only argue more and, to top it off, I hate being forced to explain anything to children. He should listen and obey me and trust me, damn it.

Instead, I just glare in his bright red face and talk to Dean like Sam's not there making me want to clock him. "Dean, get your brother packed and in the car." Forcing my hands to let go, I pull myself away and ignore the tirade that begins behind me on my way out the door.

"I'm sick of this shit, Dean!"

"Shut up and pack."

"Why? Don't you want to know why, for once?!"

"It doesn't matter why, Sammy. Carry these and I'll put the knives in the case."

"I'm done with this 'my way or the highway' bullshit!"

I can hear drawers slamming inside as I reach the car to drive it closer to the door. Don't want to parade that arsenal across the parking lot.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?! Are you trying to piss me off, too?!"

"Fuck you!"

"Fuck yourself!"

For a few moments I can hear furniture rearranging as bodies fling around the room. Dean jerks open the front door, wiping his lip. The blood is smeared across the back of his hand and he wipes it on his jeans.

He walks passed me, laying his prized case of blades in the trunk. When he looks up at me, it isn't with an acknowledgement of our unity. He's just as angry as his brother. It's for different reasons. Once again, I've shoved him in the middle. Handle it, Dean. And he did.

"He's coming." He says it short and sharp, an official report.

Dean is on his way back for another load and now it's Sam's turn into the daylight. His knuckles are bleeding and stretched tight around two shotguns. With his hair in his face, it's hard to see the blue beginning to spread across his cheekbone. I want to ask who threw the first punch.

Sam is giving me a wide berth. It's not done in fear, either. It's like I'm not worthy of his notice. He's written me off.

We've loaded in record time and the boys have silently taken their customary seats. Sam is sullen and silent. Dean is bowed up like a puff adder, in the superior position of shotgun.

I'm pulling out into traffic now and damn glad of the silence. Gives me time to plan my return visit tonight after I have these boys a couple hundred miles from here.

You see, I lie to bitches who threaten my boys.

Burn, baby, burn.

The End


End file.
